The Story in the Answers
by Serena Bancroft
Summary: He hears something like static. And then, a whisper, nearly inaudible, "Booth... Help." He hears a slight scuffle and is frozen. That's when he hears the voice of Lucifer, saying softly into the receiver, "Let the game begin." And then there is silence. In the process of being rewritten.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Story in the Answers  
**Author:** Serena  
**Summary:** "Booth," she whispered hoarsely, "Help." Brennan has been kidnapped by a serial killer, and it's up to Booth to save her.  
**Rated:** M for mentions of rape, beating, swearing, and violence. Read with discretion. You've been warned.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones. Nuff' said.  
**Author's Note:** Just so you know, this is quite possibly the most violent story I have ever written or thought up. After I write I think, Perhaps I should be contained to a mental hospital?

* * *

She forced her heavy eyelids open and was met with darkness. It wasn't precisely blackness, but it sure as hell wasn't light either. She let her eyes adjust to the dark light. She was lying on her side, in a loose fetal position, on a hard surface. Concrete? She tried to move her hands, which were behind her. Immobile. She heard the soft chink of metal, so she assumed she was bound with handcuffs. She lifted her head, a seemingly impossible task, like shoving over Mount Everest, but she accomplished it. She was met with blasts of pain in her head and ringing in her ears. She gasped, and clenched her teeth in pain and let her head fall back to the concrete.

Moving her head was out of the equation, so she tried to move her legs. Also bound. But this was different. Some sort of twine or rope bit into her skin, which screamed in pain. She could visualize this injury. She'd most likely been bound for a few hours, at least. What happened? Who brought her here? Why did they take her?

She began to shiver violently, not only with fear, but also with cold. Her blouse was ripped from an obvious struggle and soaking wet. Her jeans were drenched as well, and her shoes and socks had obviously been lost. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she tried to keep her teeth from chattering. She vehemently hoped the liquid covering her clothing was not blood. _Think, Temerance,_ she thought, trying to give herself a mental pep-talk, _What is the last thing you remember? _But the only memories she could pull to the surface were murky and blended together.

Easier memories. Easier memories, she thought again and again. She thought back to the case. Which case? She tried to focus her foggy brain, but nothing was coming through. The only thing she could think was, _They must've given me one hell of a drug, _at which point her eyelids simply became to heavy to hold open, and she drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.

* * *

-A Few Days Earlier-

"Victim is female. Late twenties, early thirties. She's about 5"9 to 5"11, judging by her femurs." Brennan cited nonchalantly. She was crouched over a set of remains, which had been unearthed in a vacant lot for a construction project.

"Any ideas for cause of death?" Booth asked, who was standing nearby, staring hard at the decomposed remains. The flesh was almost entirely gone, with white flashes of bones peeking out from beneath the brown-red flesh.

Glancing around at the body, Brennan shook her head. "No. There's too much flesh. We need to pack her up and send her back to the Jeffersonian." she said, trying to imitate Booth.

She stood, but then stoped. The sunlight glinted off a small red object. She took a few snapshots at different angles of the little red thing with the camera that hung around her neck. Crouching back down, she lifted a small, delicate bug barette from the remains. It was a small ladybug. There were four distinct dots on the back, which was partially shrouded with dirt. "Booth," she called, and waved him over. "What do you make of this?" Brennan asked him as he approached.

"It's a barette," Booth said, like it was plain as day, which it pretty much was. "So what? She could've been wearing it when she was killed."

Brennan didn't buy it. She had on that look, that she was incredibly confused about something, and she couldn't wait to figure it out. "But I found it near her legs. That's not typically where one would wear a barette..."

Booth shrugged. "I suppose, but isn't it possible that it got moved when the killer dumped the body? Or when it was dug up?"

Brennan sighed audibly. "Well, we'll figure it out. Let's get back to the lab."

* * *

Later, the remains were laid out on the examination table. Dr. Brennan, Daisy Wick, Dr. Brenna's overly-perky grad student, and Hodgins were bent studiously over the remains. Cam stood nearby, waiting patiently so she could conduct her own tests of the flesh. Angela had already been given a few samples of the victims clothing earlier to reconstruct.

Hodgins gathered his samples from the body and moved back to his station. He began to analyze the ladybug barette. He removed all traces of dirt, and put them on slides. They all came from the ground where the body was found: a mixture of loam and clay, with a few traces of selenium. No trace of any crime scene dirt, unless she'd been killed in the vacant lot.

He then proceded to test the barette for any traces of residue from the victim's hair, like hairspray, shampoo residue, hair gel, anything like that.

When Hodgins got the results, his eyes widened in disbelief. He retested his results three times. And once more for good measure. He licked his lips, and began breathing hard. "Dr. Brennan, Cam!" he yelled hoarsely.

They came running down from the platform. "Hodgins, what is it?" Brenna asked, worry coloring her voice.

"There is nothing on that barette. No cleaning agents, no bleach, no antiseptic, no shampoo, no hair products... Nothing."

Cam looked confused. "How does that qualify as yellable?"

Hodgins did not answer her question when Angela came into sight, he paced away from his computers, "Angela," he said, in his panicky, nervous voice, "What did you get on the clothing?"

Angela looked a little baffled by the assault. "I, uh, yeah. Here," she said, handing her sketch pad. "It's not much. She wore a green t-shirt with the words 'eco-friendly' written on it and a little recycling symbol and Lee jeans. You can buy these like, anywhere, you know..."

Hodgins began muttering stuff to himself, his eyes wide with fear. It sounded like he was saying "That was her favorite shirt."

"Hodgins? What's wrong?" Brennan asked, suspicion rising in her voice. She recognized the tone as the one that Hodgins had used in the Terry Bancroft case. Hodgins had known the victim personally.

"Hodgins?" Cam asked again, arms crossing over her chest.

Hodgins walked to his other computer, ignoring his friend's questions. He then typed "Little Lady Killer" into Google.

Clicking on the first link, and a page was pulled up. Dr. Brennan, Angela and Cam began to read.

_THE LITTLE LADY KILLER_

_Police have been on the trail of the famous serial killer since 2000. No one has gotten a glipse of this mysterious figure, and some experts even debate his existance. But all the evidence points to one person: The Little Lady Killer. Cops have scoured his crime scenes for any shred of his identity, anything to break the case, but every time it is the same answer: nothing. "This guy is a perfect criminal. I never believed in a perfect crime before, but ever since I've started tracking this guy, I have started believing." says senior FBI investigator, Cheryl Stone, who has been on this criminals case from the beginning._

_HIS TACTICS_

_The Little Lady Killer has a brutal way of torturing, beating, raping, and killing his victims. He always targets women who are about 5"9-5"10, are brunette, are 30-35 years of age, and have either green or blue eyes, or a cross between those. His torture methods are awful, and been banned from public knowledge. All we are able to say, is that he kills then usually by stabbing through the eye into the brain. It is a quick death, but horribly painful._

_He kidnaps them from a variety of places, but wherever he kidnaps them from, he leaves a red ladybug barette, each with one more dot representing each victim. Police have tried to track down the company which sells these, but it went belly up back in the 50's and there are no other records of its sales._

_He never leaves any sort of trace on the body, which seems impossible, since he repeatedly rapes the girls. No one knows how he does it._

_VICTIMS_

_The Little Lady Killer's first victim was 30 year old Jean Ann Umbry, an Arlington, Virginia native, who went missing December 26, 1999 from the school where she worked. The barette was found on her desk in her classroom. Her body was discovered in January in a vacant lot in downtown Arlington. Jean Ann was a beloved mother, wife, daughter, sister, and schoolteacher. She will be dearly missed._

_The second victim was 35 year old Natalie Porter, who lived in Maryland. She went missing from her home May 21, 2001. The ladybug barette was found on her desk in her home office. Her body was discovered in Annapolis, in a vacant lot. Natalie was a well-loved daughter, sister, fiance, and aunt._

_Third, Selena Higgard, 32, disappeared from a park in Washington D.C. on January 19, 2002. She was with her two daughters, Mikaela, 17, and Susana, 7. The barette was discovered on a bench that Mrs. Higgard was last seen sitting on. Her body was discovered in another vacant lot in D.C._

_The Little Lady Killer's latest victim is Chelby Hodgins, a 33 year old who lived in Washington, D.C. with her German Sheperd, Tank. Chelby's disappearance gave the police the evidence to spark intrest in this case gone cold. The Little Lady Killer must have followed Chelby home, not knowing she had man's best friend on her side. When Tank heard his owner's screams, it is assumed he viciously attacked her kidnapper, because blood was later discovered in Chelby's home and in the dog's mouth, none of it her own. Sadly, Tank died in the attack a hero; the Little Lady Killer had fatally shot him. Chelby's body has not yet been discovered._

_This break in the case provided much needed evidence that the Little Lady Killer Case had been lacking. Sadly, without any DNA of the sort to compare it to, and no on DNA in any database, the Little Lady Killer remains at large._

_It is assumed that after the attack on Chelby, the Little Lady Killer went into hiding, stopping his spree of killings in fear of capture._

Everyone sat in shock for a moment. Cam was the first one to gather the courage to talk. "Chelby... Hodgins." she said quietly, although her tone sounded a lot more like a question.

"Chel was my little sister." Hodgins murmered quietly, his voiced getting choked up. Heleaned on his desk for support with both hands, hunching over. "That shirt... I got it for her at Good Will... It was... Her favorite shirt..." Tears began to stream down his face, desperation clouding his voice as it turned into unintellegable sobs. Angela began to wrap him in a hug, outright shock and compassion filling her features while Cam and Brennan stood like deer in headlights. But Hodgins straightened, hot tears still on his face. "I think we just found my little sister."

* * *

**A/N: Cliffhanger! Please review. It's much appreciated. (And if you are wondering, yes, I must be a little mentally unstable for starting another story :P)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oookay just had a totally vexing moment (Ive wanted to use the phrase all day, even if its in the wrong context :P) I got like, a million story alerts for this, but ONE whole review. Can I have a few more? Please? THis chapter is mostly a Hodgins/Angela chapter. :) Serena**

* * *

-Present-

Her breathing was labored as she awoke, her body still numb from the cold, her hands and feet still bound. But her head was much clearer this time. She easily opened her eyes, and her vision adjusted quickly. Even though there was a small amount of light, she couldn't make anything out difinitively. What she thought was a chair sort of looked like a shelf. Perhaps it was a coat rack?

She began to think back. The Little Lady Killer. He must've gotten her. And if she wasn't mistaken, he wouldn't leave her alone for long...

* * *

-A Few Days Earlier-

_"I think we just found my little sister."_

Brennan took this news like she always did: She had another piece of her big case puzzle and she wasn't going to waste time sitting around and contemplating the piece. She was going to use it. She got back onto the forensic platform. Daisy was cheerily humming a song Brennan had heard on the radio a few days ago and it was getting on her nerves.

"Daisy," she said, her voice tight, "I would appreciate it very much if you would stop humming. It is affecting my concentration."

She looked up, having the look of a squirrel on her face. "Oh, um, sorry Dr. Brennan."

They worked over the remains for a few more minutes. "Hodgins," Brennan called calmly, "I would like a DNA sample to compare with the remains."

Hodgins still looked dazed, his cheeks still wet with tears. "Yeah. Sure." he said, his voice blank. His face was blank as well. Brennan could not spot a single emotion playing over his features. Grabbing a cotton swab, se ruched back over, hastily took a sample, and gave it to Cam.

"If this is Chelby Hodgins then, maybe Hodgins should not be present in this case." Brennan suggested quietly, as she handed over the cotton swab contained in a small evidence tube. She may not have superb social skills, but she knew when to be courteous and professional.

Cam nodded quietly, a whirl of emotions playing on her face. Shock, sadness, confusion, fear, more shock... It was dizzying for Brenna to watch. So she walked back to the platform, and Dasiy was looking confused. "Excuse me, Dr. Brennan?" Daisy asked as Brennan bent over the remains once more.

Slowly raising her eyes, Brennan gave Daisy an impatient and exasperated look, that Daisy totally missed. Or ignored; Brennan couldn't tell these things the way Booth could. "Why did you take Dr. Hodgins DNA? I mean, I'm not totally positive you actually _did_ take his DNA, but I mean, it sure looked like you did, and if you did I'm just wonderin-"

"It is possible," Brennan said loudly, smothering the rest of Daisy's babbling question, "That this is Dr. Hodgins' sister. She has been missing since 2003. Didn't you hear our conversation? I mean, we were right there..." Brennan said, trailing off slightly. There was something about Daisy that just irked Brennan the wrong way.

"Oh, I didn't want to eavesdrop. I've done that before, and it got me into a lot of trouble, and what if I wasn't supposed to hear it? I mean, that would be kind of embarassing for you guys you know, if you were just-"

"Thank you, Ms. Wick. That's all the answer I needed." Brennan said, annoyance apparent in her voice. Daisy looked up, and for once noticed Brennan's seething glare, and she shut herself up.

* * *

Hodgins wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. After Dr. Brennan and Cam had walked off, he couldn't feel, couldn't think, couldn't speak... They'd found his sister. He had _seen_ her remains, her bones. Angela's evidence proved she was wearing her _favorite _shirt. The one he clearly remembered purchasing. He remembered the soft tinkle of the bells as he walked into Good Will. He remembered finding the shirt, and thinking about how much she would like it. He remembered the wrapping paper he used. He remembered her birthday party. He remembered her face when she saw it, her smile, the twinkle in her blue eyes. He remembered exactly how she said "I'm going to go put this on _right _now!" Her voice wavering, barely containing her exitement. Chelby had always had an affinity for animals and nature, and how much she loved that shirt proved it. He remembered what she said "Jack, promise me, that when I die, you'll _bury_ me in this shirt." He'd laughed, saying that wouldn't be for a long time, and by the time she died, the shirt wouldn't fit her any more. Little did he know she'd disappear a year later.

In his transient state of remembrance, he hadn't heard Angela's approach. She looked at his face, his handsome face, marred with an emotionless mask. But Angela knew better. She looked deeper, at the little things. The light teasing twinkle in his eye had disappeared. A small, almost indiscernable crease between his eyes indicated deep thought. His fists were clenched in his lap, his knuckles white. Deeper, still, in his eyes was a deep reservoire of hatred. Hatred at himself, hatred at the serial killer, hatred of the world. It was scary to see the man she'd loved so pained.

"Jack?" she ventured timidly. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him. Even though they'd broken up, she still harbored her feelings for him. She just wasn't able to admit that breaking up with Hodgins had been a mistake.

Her quiet voice reached out to Jack, and latched onto some part of his soul. He snapped out of his reminiscence. "You know," he said, his voice sounding almost normal, "When my father died, he told me one thing I had to do. It wasn't even about the company, or our money. He told me, 'Jack, you take care of your little sister. T-take c-ca-care of-f h-h-her,'" Jack broke off in great heaving sobs, that racked his body like a leaf in a hurricane.

Seeing him so vulnerable, so alone, so helpless, awoke a maternal piece of Angela's being. She tenderly wrapped her arms around his quaking frame. "It's okay, honey. Let it all out," she murmered to him quietly.

At first he leaned away from her embrace, feeling totally alone in his pain and suffering. But soon, the feelings were just too overwhelming for him to bear alone. He began to tenatively allow himself to lean into her, giving a little comfort. But soon, she was all that held him upright, all that held his soul in reality.

Angela was totally absorbed in her task of comforting Hodgins, having a one track mind. But when his sobs began to quiet however, she noticed they were the object of more than a few stares.

"Let's go to my office," she coaxed gently, easing him up from his chair. He leaned on her all the way to her office, where they could have a lot more privacy. She sat the both of them down on a couch.

Jack slowly regained his sense of conciousness and scooted away from Angela, embarassment playing over his features. "I, uh, sorry, Ange."

She scoffed. "Don't worry about it, Jack. You're hurting right now. I get it."

He leaned back against the couch, sighing. "I just... I just feel like such a failure."

"Hey, you are NOT a failure. Don't say that." Angela chided gently, scooting closer to Hodgins so that their knees touched.

Without saying a word, Hodgins withdrew his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. Opening it, he withdrew a photo and handed it to Angela.

She took it, gazing into his eyes, she then turned her eyes to the photo. It was Jack, and who she assumed was Chelby. They were on a beach, a pretty white sandy beach with a blue ocean in the background. A few palm trees were visible in the distance. Hodgins had his arm around Chelby, smiling broadly into the camera. There was just a look in his eyes that Angela had never seen before. Just a sense of peace was so evident in his eyes it was staggering. He was wearing swimming trunks and a plain gray t-shirt. Next to him was Chelby. She was a beautiful girl. She was tan, and her face with a slightly square architecture, but she had a nice chin. Her nose was straight and her lips were a delicate shade of natural pink. Her eyes were deep blue, bluer than the ocean in the photo. Her eyes were shaped exactly like Hodgins, and their hair was the same color. Except Chelby's hair was long and wavy, shimmering in the light. She wore a maroon halter-strap bikini, showing off her nearly perfect body, and a green towel was wrapped around her waist. Her eyes were full of life, and both Hodgins and she had visible lilts in their faces, as though they'd just stopped laughing enough for the photographer to take the photo.

"Chelby always wanted to go to Hawaii. So I took her as celebration for her twenty-first birthday. It was," he paused, taking a calming breath, "so fun. She was such a fun person." He raised his eyes to Angela. "So full of life, you know?" His eyes were pleading for her to understand, to comprehend his pain right now.

"I know," Angela consoled, again putting her arms around him as his eyes grew misty, "I understand."

* * *

**A/N: in case anyone was wondering, I am a huge Angela/Hodgins fan. They are as good a couple as Booth/Brennan! I am so mad at the writers to write them so out of charecter to create conflict. Anyway, please review! -Serena**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the support for this story. It turns out people like me :) Please review! -SB**

* * *

She felt as though she'd been lying on her side for a millenium. Her shoulder and hip felt as though they were on fire. She was bone-achingly cold- with each breath she took, her teeth chattered together as audibly as a jet engine. Her body trembled, goosebumps covering every inch of her flesh. Her hands shook constantly, the cuffs set to a constant jingle. She tried to calm herself, to think rationally, but hysteria was starting to set in, creeping steadily into every thought in her head.

But her hysteria began to peak when she heard a doorknob turn somewhere behind her. A beam of light streamed in from an open door, but in her panic, she didn't think to look around at her surroundings.

She heard heavy thuds on the floor, like hiking boots on a solid concrete floor.

Her breath came out rapid, growing louder and shallower. "Please," she said, her voice breathy, desperate, "Don't hurt, me. Please!" she pleaded with her captor, hysteria growing more and more evident in her weak voice.

A voice came from the now darkness. A sadistic, cold, unfeeling voice. "I wish, sweetheart. I wish."

* * *

Brennan released the remains to Cam so she could perform DNA analysis. After signing the last signature on the paperwork, she retreated to her office. Sitting down at her desk, she closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and sighed. She grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV across the room from her, trying to find any news program or footage that the nosy film crews may have obtained.

She found a promising station when she heard the older-looking broadcaster announce, "The following footage is considered extremely disturbing. We encourage all young children to leave the room."

It then cut to footage of the recovery of the remains, and a much-too-cheerful sounding woman talking about the scene before them. "I has been years since a victim of the Little Lady Killer has surfaced. But now it seems that the dry streak has ended. Human remains have been discovered today in a vacant lot, and all evidence at this time points to the Little Lady Killer." A picture then cut to the victims, listing their names and who they left behind. Then came Chelby. "It is believed that this victim found is Chelby Hodgins. She disappeared June 29, 2003. It is believed that Chelby's dog attacked and wounded the kidnapper, providing his blood and DNA. It is believed that after the kidnap of Chelby, the killer went into hiding, afraid of capture."

"Famous author and forensic anthropologist, Dr. Temperance Brennan is going to be working the case. Many experts are optimistic of the Little Lady Killer's capture. Officer Michael Reed of Washington, D.C. Police Department says, 'Dr. Brennan is the forerunner of her field, and if anyone can capture the Little Lady Killer, it's her. She had closed cases that have been cold longer than the Little Lady Killer's.'"

Brennan switched the TV off. She got enough of these terrible events in her real life. She didn't need to hear a full recap on the news. Plus, she hated when the media glorified her. It was Booth who did the real arresting.

So, after getting awfully bored mentally cussing out the media, she decided to check her email. After logging in, she blew through the first few emails, one from her publisher confirming book tour dates, and a few from other departments at the Jeffersonian. When she was replying to a question from a grad student, a window popped up on her screen. It read: You have a new message in your inbox. Would you like to read it?

She clicked yes. The message was presented on the screen. And the three words that she read made her ice run cold, and her stomach to drop to her feet.

**_Watch your back._**

_It's just a prank, it's just a prank, it's just a prank,_ She kept repeating to herself, willing it to be true. She did not recognize the sender. She kept repeating the prank chant in her head as she dialed Booth's number, which she had memorized. As it rang, she felt herself grow more and more scared. As soon as she heard his voice on the other end, however, she felt a lot more confident. "Booth," he answered in his normal brusque way.

"Oh thank god," she gasped, letting out the breath she didn't know she was holding. She didn't mean to sound so needy; it was just the fact that she was kind of freaked by the email.

"Thank god for... what?"

"For answering," Brennan stated matter-of-factly.

"Okay, then. Your welcome to answering." He paused. "Is there a real reason you called?"

"Yes. I got a really..." _Terrifying. Scary. Freaky. I'm-Scared-Out-Of-My-Wits-So-Come-Hold-Me Freakish. _"...strange email. I want you to come look at it, or..." she trailed off.

Booth stopped breathing on the other end of the line. A strange email? Usually 'strange' in Brennan's book meant 'horrifying' in Booth's. What really freaked him out was the fact that she'd recieved this 'strange' email on the same day that they'd found the body of the most likely recent victim of one of the most violent serial killers in history? Yes, this definately was more than 'strange'. This definitely qualified as horrifying.

"Bones, you need to listen to every word I say. Understand? Do not be alone. Go out onto the platform where everyone can see you. Go. Now." Booth commanded, his voice icy and serious.

"Booth, there's nothing to do on the platform right now. It's better if I just stay in my office. Besides, I've got a ton of paperwork to do-"

"Bones, you have to trust me. Do you?"

She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Then go out onto the platform. I think the killer sent you that email, and you need to make sure you get somewhere where he can not get you without someone seeing." Booth said, his voice still in the deadly serious monotone.

"Sure, Booth." Brennan said, her blind trsut in Booth coloring her voice.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Booth had the sirens blaring on the way to the Jeffersonian, not wanting to waste a single second. Driving like a madman, Booth tried to come up with a hundred different scenarios about why the Little Lady Killer _could not_ get Brennan. "She's in a secure lab," he said aloud, but in his mind, a voice was screaming_, a lab that has VENTS. Tunnels. Truck ports. Security gaurds that could be corrupt or bought off. It could be an inside job. _For every positive scenario, Booth's mind automatically came up with about a million horrible ones to match it. "She not even his type-" But he cut himself off. Who was he kidding? Brennan was _totally_ his type. Right body type, hair color, height, eye color... not to mention she could find the evidence to put this guy on death row... Subconsciously, Booth's foot pressed harder down on the gas pedal, which was already floored.

Panicked adrenaline pumped through his body, temporarily shoving aside fear. He drove with a one-track focus: Get to Brennan. Get to Brennan. Get to Brennan.

A voice seemed to be chanting that in his head, over and over, and over, and over. _Go to her, Booth, _it said, _you can SAVE her. Go faster._ Booth tried to shove the pedal down further, but did not succeed.

For Booth, the ride seemed to take an eternity. But in reality, as he careened into the Jeffersonian, it only took three minutes. He ran in, glad he was wearing comfortable street clothes rather than his usual, stiff suit. His hand was poised on his gun, ready to draw in a millisecond.

"Booth?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin and almost shot Cam when she said his name. "Whoa, there!" she exclaimed as he drew his gun, aiming with the sniper-accuracy of the seasoned shooter he was. "What is wrong with you?"

"Where's Bones?" he asked, his mind still on that one-track focus.

"In her office? Like she always is?" Cam said slowly, her forehead crinkling as she squinted in confusion at him.

"Damn it. I told her to come on to the platform!" He cussed again under his breath, and ran in the direction of Brennan's office.

"Booth!" Cam shouted after him, "What the hell is going on?"

But he hardly heard her. He was still running for the glass doors that would lead to Brennan's office. Upon entering, there were two things he was certain of: One, Brennan was not in there, which sent his stomach and heart plummeting to the soles of his shoes, and two, there was no evidence of a struggle, which made him feel a bit better. If Brennan was kidnapped, she'd put up a fight. _Unless she knew her kidnapper and didn't know his intentions,_ his mind screamed.

As Booth surveyed her office, Cam approached behind him. "Maybe she went to the bathroom or something," she suggested. Booth noticed that her voice had raised half an octave, which usually meant she was getting a bit nervous.

"Maybe..." Booth trailed off. He strode over to her desk. His heart plunged through the floor, and he felt on the verge of passing out.

On her desk was a lady bug barrette.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: sorry for the rift in the update, maybe reviews would grease the wheels? Anyway, I'm going to focus more on Brennan in captivity, and maybe a little case stuff.**

* * *

"What are you going to do to me?" Brennan cried, her voice shrill.

"Oh, nothing, honey... For now, at least." the voice answered her. She shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

An evil laugh that sounded totally cliche echoed through the room she was in. And just like that, he was gone. Hot tears dripped down her face and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete. The steady drip of her tears on the floor matched her heartbeat. All of the sounds she made were magnified, the slightest shift could make a slight ruffling sound that seemed louder than a jet engine.

As suddenly as he'd left, he was back, jamming something in her mouth. She thrashed as best she could, trying to bite down on his fingers, but when she bit, she tasted something that reminded her of cornmeal. A corn muffin? "What's the matter, honey? You seem hungry. How long was it since you last ate?" he nearly cooed in a voice that sounded so unnaturally caring and sweet, that it felt like a microphone screech to her ears. She spat out the corn muffin on the cold floor. "That's okay. You don't like corn muffins. I'll keep that in mind." After that, he left, once again leaving Brennan in total darkness.

Her breathing began to return to normal, and her erratic heartbeat slowed. But after a few long, lonely hours she rethought about the food on the floor. Her stomach was deafening, and the hunger made her more uncomfortable than she already was. Shifting so she sat on her side, she picked the partially chewed corn muffin off the ground with her teeth and tongue, chewing slowly and deliberately. She didn't taste any poisons or other meds. "But some are tasteless," she chastised out loud. But as soon as her tongue had a slight taste of some form of nourishment, she couldn't stop. Despite her fear at there being meds in her meal, she gobbled it down, which partially satiated her roaring hunger.

* * *

She had been chloroformed. Her DNA on the rag confirmed it. Booth was staring wide eyed at the busy scene in front of him. Many FBI agents had been called in, and Jeffersonian personnel were collecting evidence.

Booth tried to visualize what happened, but all he could think about was how scared he must've been. How scared she must be. He leaned against a wall, sinking into his personal hell.

**Booth/Bones**

Brennan felt like she'd been lying on her side for a millennia, even though in logic that would hardly be true. She was starting to calm down, her heart rate slowing to reasonable levels, and rational thought was now possible. Before she could even sort through her situation, he was back.

"Darling, you've been here for two days now," he said in his nasty, sugar-coated voice. "I think it's time."

"For what?" she asked, morbidly curious about her own fate.

"To come outside. To be in our house. I decorated it just like you wanted it. The perfect color to match your eyes is in the bathroom," he said, his voice sounding dreamy.

Harshly dragging her to her feet, he used something to cut the twine, most likely the knife he'd kill her with, she thought with a shudder. She felt the blade being pressed against her carotid artery, she she inhaled sharply. Any plans of escape quickly disappeared in her mind. If he cut her neck she'd be dead in a matter of seconds. Usually, when she processed her own death, she thought of it as the natural order. Eventually everything wears down and has to shut down. Like human bodies. She didn't know what it would be like not to exist-to have her existence snuffed out by a guy with a knife. Now though, she didn't want to process her own death, to think about not having a set of lungs, a beating heart, a working brain.

Something she didn't often want to confront pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. She didn't want to die not knowing what would ever happen to Booth. She wanted to share her life with him, to laugh when he did, to be sad when he was, to prop him up when things got rough, to lean on him when she was feeling down. She wasn't sure if that was love, but she thought it was. If that wasn't love, then no one could really be in love. No one could be that blissed out all the time. Now she vehemently wished that she'd taken up Booth's offer to give _them _a try. She ferverently wished that one of those idiots who were trying to bend time and space could invent a time machine, so she could go back. She could go back to when they stood together after that session with Sweets. She wished she could go back to that kiss, and make it last forever, and never let go.

Back when she met Booth six years ago, she'd considered 'love' as a flood of brain chemicals, of endorphins and serotonin. But now she believed it was something more. Something that wasn't measurable in brain chemistry or a lab. Like Booth had said all those years ago. _There are those things like love that just can't be measured in a lab, Bones._ She'd never thought Booth would be right. She wasn't shy about flaunting her superior knowledge, but Booth just seemed to be in a different league than her. He had a whole different set of knowledge than she did. She'd never thought her science or her brains could be wrong. Now she was rethinking everything. Booth had made her rethink her whole life.

This whole conclusion had taken place in less than a second, and now The Little Lady Killer was shoving her through a door that would ultimately lead to her death. And she didn't want to go. Not yet.

**Sorry for the short chap. wanted to get another one up. a nice romantic ballad by brennan there XD hope i didn't write her too far out of character.**


End file.
